Work Text:
“'I don't believe in magic,' the young boy said.
The old man smiled. 'You will, when you see him.'”
- Atticus
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That gentle heat, those quiet nudges of Magnus’s heart that pushed him toward him, they’re flaring bright now, pulling and pulsing like their mouths against each other, fusing them to one another’s bodies.
His senses are submerged in him, swamped in his smell, lost in the solid weight of his arms, and his touch, oh his touch, finally. The feel of his lips on Magnus, of his fingers on his neck where his hair meets his skin, the ebbing and flowing rhythm of his body against his as they breathe heavily and touch, chest to chest, and breathe out with unbearable space between them.
It’s not a big kiss, their mouths are not enveloping one another in hunger and lust, but by no uncertain means, he is using his tongue in new ways to say what he just did in an old way – he wants Magnus. And even if his kiss stays firmly to Magnus's mouth for now, his two lips sucking softly on his bottom one tell him that he wants all of him, even, maybe especially, the parts he does not know yet. In his kiss, Magnus finds not only him and his affection, but he finds himself. In his kiss, Magnus finds that he can escape the life he has and begin the one he wants.
Because even before he kissed Magnus, before he held him, before he put his hand in his, he took him away from everything he wanted to leave. So Magnus will leave it all behind to see that etched wrinkle between his eyebrows when he frowns, to watch the color of leaves in the autumn of his hair, to feel that his kiss is as sweet as his laugh which is as sweet a his words which are as sweet as his smiles.
After a lifetime felt in six days, Magnus's kiss answers the question he asked then, the question he asked now.
Yes, Magnus will run away with him.
The Beginning
─────────────────────────────────── Monday
At first, Alec’s hoping to have a free seat next to him. He's got long legs but enjoys looking out the window of the bus, at the blurred vistas and passing distance. If someone were to come sit next to him, he would have to make a choice—comfort or apprehension.
Right now, he'd choose the window without a thought. Out that window, he's watching a boy, one whose teeth are grazing his lower lip constantly, whose smooth skin is so constant and even, it must be natural, not cosmetic. His eyes are darting here and there, and he’s sweeping his long, ring fingers behind his ear, playing lightly with his silver, ear piece. He hauls his bag into the main aisle of the bus, searching for a place to sit and all of a sudden, Alec’s not hoping for a seat to himself anymore.
As if by fate or something less dramatic, he ends up in the one free seat—the one next to Alec. He smiles and sits down and shifts himself into comfort, and Alec is even more taken with him up close than he was from afar. Now, Alec just needs to find a way to talk to him without seeming creepy or a stuttering mess.
He starts simply. "Um, Hello."
The gentleness in Alec’s voice surprises him, as does hearing it at all. Alec stares at him - at his sharp beauty, all angles and planes, edges and lines, his glittered eyes and perfectly styled hair. He has that haughty sort of arrogance in his good looks; Alec didn't think he'd be friendly. But when he turns to answer him, he's smiling and, despite the fiery intensity in his eyes that disconcerts him a bit, Alec’s drawn to him and the sparks of attraction he sets off in him.
"Why hello, my dear."
They exchange their 'who, what, where, when's; he's Alec, he’s Magnus, they're both here on Kingston, taking the bus from the ferry to the Hotel to spend four days of rest and relaxation time—most of these details match up.
Alec’s 'why' is very casual—"I just wanted to get away," he says. "So, I just took a few days off work." Magnus's 'why' is much more complicated, and he’s reluctant to share.
But Alec’s smile is as warm as his eyes are hot; and so Magnus is engaging in conversation because he's so immersed in it. His hands move wildly as he gestures, his eyebrows quirk up and down in emphasis, his mouth widens and rounds with his words.
Alec’s words are gentle but determined. He wants to know Magnus’s story, this boy who caught his eye and has now captured his interest. He can't say what it is about Magnus that captivates him—he’s glittery, breathtaking, gorgeous but not his usual type; he’s friendly and kind, but there's only been a few minutes of conversation, so Alec can't say it superlatively. But despite him seeming far from ordinary, or perhaps because of it, Alec can't take his eyes off him, his ears away from his gentle answers. Eventually, his persistence pays off.
Sighing, Magnus says, "I have this whole week off, but I'm playing hooky a bit. I'm going to a wedding. A wedding I really don't want to go to. I should already be there, in fact."
Alec’s eyebrows go up. "It's not your wedding, is it?" His eyes flicker down to Magnus’s fourth finger, searching and coming up empty; that particular finger is bare and he is relieved.
He laughs and Alec is thrilled that he can make him make that sound. "No. That would be trouble, wouldn't it?"
He nods slowly. "Yeah, it definitely would. I'd have to find myself another seat before I convinced you to do something crazy. Something I normally would never say."
"Oh, intriguing. Like what, darling?" Brown and blue find each other, light smiles on their faces.
"Like… I don't know. Leave it all behind to run away with me," Alec suggests and Magnus laughs again. Alec’s pleased; that is what he was hoping for. The fact that he’s not laughing at him fuels further hope.
"Well if it was my wedding, I might just be convinced to." Magnus tries to pass the comment with a chuckle, but Alec can hear the undercurrent of honesty in it.
"Alright, spit it out. What's the story?" Magnus shakes his head. "Listen, you can't sit down next to someone, say something like that and then refuse to expand. That's being a conversational tease."
Magnus laughs again, and Alec's growing addicted to the noise, soft and gentle from deep in his throat, right from his heart. "I just sat down. You started the conversation."
How could I not talk to you? Alec’s mind screams. He's scared Magnus can hear his thoughts through his eyes. "Well, you're the runaway… groomsman?" He guesses.
Magnus shrugs, hinting that the conversation is not as implausible as he’s insisting. But still with his words, his protests, "Seriously, darling, you don't want to know."
"How do you know that? Why don't you tell me the story and I'll decide. If you're right, you get a free 'I told you so' out of it. If you're wrong—which I think you are—then at least we will have passed some time."
"What if I don't want to talk about it?" Magnus’s attempting to be defensive, but his large grin belies the attempt at seriousness.
"Well, I’ll respect that but I will like to remind you that two seconds ago, I was about three sentences away from getting you to run away with me." It's there again, the cottony warm cadence of his amusement, that laugh that hypnotizes Alec. He's hungry in a brand new way, for his laughs or guffaws, his words or responses.
"Fine, dear. But for the record, I'm really going to enjoy saying 'I told you so'," he warns. Then without waiting, a clear indication that he does want to talk about it, he launches into his story. "My sister, Clary, is getting married. And I'm really, really happy for her. But her …soon-to-be-wife and I haven’t been getting along well recently. I'm not completely sold on the idea of marriage, and she's been giving me a really hard time about it. Especially because, in her words, we’ve been together forever – um, I mean they’ve been together forever." Alec notices the slip, he noticed it from the beginning but goes along with it. Alec thinks he’ll stop there, but he continues. "And it was great, they were great at the beginning - but recently, I feel as if Clary no longer wants to go forward with the wedding. If she's getting cold feet and panicking last minute, it should be a sign right? That she shouldn't go along with it?" He lets out a breath. "That was a bit of a rant, sorry."
Alec ignores his last few words, heart tearing ever so slightly at the idea that he might be gone even as he sits next to him. "Do you want her to go through with it?," he asks.
"It's been a while since she's known what she wanted." Magnus’s being too honest - in his cryptic words to this stranger again. But a little part of him says, it doesn't matter, he’ll never see him again. A bigger part of him feels that won't be true. "I don't think she wants to go through with it. But because of all the pressure her fiancé is putting on her and the stupid, romantic wedding atmosphere, I think she's afraid she'll think that she does want it."
"It sounds to me like you're over-thinking this for her – which is coming from someone who does it on a daily basis," Alec says, just hoping—and yes, he laughs, eyes bright, mouth wide, body lose and languid. He's caught off guard at how much Magnus’s actions, his acceptance mean to him already. But Alec can't stop talking to him, and he wants to keep on doing so forever, until he's sure these tentative flutters will solidify and never disappear. It's day one, but he has a feeling. In fact, he's having all sorts of feelings for the glittery-eyed, pretty-smiled boy sitting next to him, and they're warming him in ways he's not expecting, not experienced.
"I think I am, too," Magnus says. "And there I go again. Now I'll over-think about over-thinking. Although, ironically, if you ask anyone, I am the embodiment opposition of over-thinking. I just do, like taking this vacation and leaving all the wedding arrangements for my sister to handle—even though she somehow loves this stuff."
"Well, you know there's only one solution to all of this," Alec says solemnly.
"And what is that, pretty boy?" He asks. He is enraptured in this conversation, in meeting his blue eyes, in the simple way his voice turns words to sonnet.
"You're going to have to leave it all behind and run away with me."
─────────────────────────────────── Tuesday
By the day after meeting him, Alec has discovered a sound he likes as much as Magnus’s laugh. He’s squealing in delight as a wave chases him back to shore. They're on a rocky beach, teasing and testing the tide, daring it to drench them. The water's not the main attraction, though, and neither is the town. Magnus has been delighting in the way Alec’s lips thin on his easy smile, the quiet sweet earnestness in his every word. After staying in the same small hotel, though in different rooms on different floors, they'd agreed to meet for dinner. Despite the fact that they both came on this trip alone, they are only too happy to escape the heaviness of their thoughts in the easy laughter between them.
To be honest, Magnus doesn't know what he’s doing, opening up to this stranger like this. But it feels good to be unraveled by someone who has no expectations of him. It feels good to have Alec’s warm smile enticing and extracting words out of him like he's a Magnus-whisperer. It feels really good to look at him when he's looking away and watch his jaw twitch involuntarily, see the sea breeze rummage through his messy hair the way his hands might want to. It is the jolt of attraction mixed with hypnotic fascination of the way his long lashes perfectly frame those eyes and the heady realization that he wants to listen to what Magnus wants to say, and doesn’t try to emotionally manipulate him on what he has to say.
It's not that he’s never met anyone like Alec before: kind, personable attractive. It's that he’s never met him before, and there is something in the way Alec’s eyes follow his decorated, ring fingers up his arm and caress his hair before arresting his own eyes that makes him think he’ll never meet anyone like Alec, with the looks he gives and the words in his eyes as he listens to him.
And yes, Alec has a pull, a magnetism he can't deny, but he also feels… pushed. Not hurried or forced but like some intangible force is leading him to Alec, letting his mouth run just to see his answering smiles. He’s never been shy or lost for words, but Alec makes him feel as though every word he utters matters.
They don't actually talk about anything important. After the heavy revelations of their very first conversation, it's almost like there's an unspoken pact to elude all seriousness, any topic that will bring down this easy, flying rapport they have. He’s a little addicted to Alec, his like and his light. There's an ease he feels around him, like he’s on a vacation from himself while still being him.
He can hardly believe they've just met the day before. With Alec, it's so easy to get away from it all.
─────────────────────────────────── Wednesday
Magnus thought he wanted a vacation to take a break from his life, himself. But in the glowing, nebulous wake of Alec's dangerously sweet smile, he finds that he doesn't want to be anyone else but the boy who accompanies Alec everywhere. He’s sure that some of the people on the tour group they often accompany think that they're a couple. He’s less sure about how much he minds this incorrect notion.
For his part, Alec is embracing these new feelings for this new boy. What started as curiosity when he first saw Magnus on the bus quickly turned into a crush. And now, as Magnus walks by his side, his hand swinging next to him animatedly in his happy gait, what has become a crush is snowballing into care.
Magnus apologized once, twice, thrice for his outburst of emotion when they first met. Every time, he tells him it's alright, but Magnus thinks he's placating him. It's really alright by him, that uncontrollable spew of Magnus’s life that Alec got from his words is invaluable to him. It makes Magnus real, fascinates and intrigues him as to who he is. Magnus hooked him with a few lines and he cannot tear himself away.
Slashes of burning warmth rip through his gut, and he feels at odds with himself. He is surprised and overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings, even as every nerve in him is stretching out toward Magnus, to feel his presence around him. It has been two days, less than forty eight hours, he thinks.
And then he decides to stop thinking and just feel. Izzy would have been proud.
Perhaps feelings are just what he needs to snap him out of the apathetic ennui he's been living in. He's been cooped up in the city too long, he thinks. Too many buildings, too many cars, too many responsibilities, too much monotony. Here there's nature and fresh air and him. He came to Kingston to get away from the city and with this boy, he feels like he's in a new world. His ordinary life, his average existence is elevated by talking to Magnus; he has purpose in making him laugh, direction in being next to him as they explore the island. He has passion and emotion coursing through him and even if he doesn't know what this is, he's okay with that. He knows everything about his normal life and feels nothing; he knows nothing about this boy with him and feels everything.
Yes, he'll stop thinking and just feel.
─────────────────────────────────── Thursday
Sometimes, meeting and spending time with a stranger is awkward. But sometimes, it's wondrous, when smiles and laughs and words line up across from each other in an easy, gentle rhythm. It's not superb banter or intense argument that fuels their connection. Their rapport is not like a debate where pulses are racing and adrenaline is high; they're like a puzzle, slowly putting pieces of themselves together through conversation, revealing the larger picture. Theirs is not the ripping of each other's clothes off and the ravishing of one another; it is finding the hum of arousal in hands brushing, the thrum of electricity in eyes meeting over shared laughter, the slow and steadily rising drum of their heartbeats as they begin to match each other's cadence.
In the heart of the matter, in their own hearts, they don't feel like strangers, which is perhaps the strangest thing of all.
And for all that they are not saying, they say so much. Alec doesn't think he’s spoken this much, this freely to anyone before. But Magnus’s eyes invite conversation, lure disclosure, tempt exposure, and so his words keep tumbling out and Magnus keeps catching them.
It's the final night—tomorrow, they'll return to NY, to the lives they've each escaped from—and they're on a night cruise, whale watching. But so far, there have been no whales and really, they've been watching each other more than anything else.
"You know, I was afraid to get on a boat for the longest time when I was a kid," Magnus reveals. He doesn't need to hear Alec’s words to see the 'why' written in the tilt of his chin, the rise of his eyebrows, the quirk of the left side of his lips. "I watched Jaws and got really freaked out by it—was terrified of the water." Magnus expects to hear Alec’s laugh or quick comment but gets silence instead. Surprised, he turns to Alec, wind tossing his hair against his forehead when he turns, causing him to shiver.
Alec’s giving him a strange look. "What?" He asks.
"I can't believe you allowed it to have a lasting effect on any part of your life," Alec says, and he laughs. He’s laughed more in these past few days with Alec than he has in prior months without him. Alec’s like a fresh breeze, buoying him, making him feel light and airy, like he could go anywhere on the wind.
But aside from Alec's warm gale, there is a chilly breeze carrying the cold of the melted ice of the sea below them. It blows in gusts and bursts, causing them to shiver and their words to stutter as they continue to talk, despite their chattering teeth. Magnus reaches into his bag and pulls out an intricate, interwoven blanket he brought for an emergency just like this one. He’s wrapping it around himself when he notices a violent shudder wrack Alec. On impulse, he walks closer and nudges him with the hand that holds the left side of his blanket-cocoon open.
Alec’s eyes take a moment to travel from his hands to the blanket, out to the sea in front of them and finally to his face. Again, there is that silent binding bond that makes them understand each other without understanding anything else at all. Alec grabs one end of the thick material, curling it around his left shoulder, resting his right arm flush against his.
The moment is dense and saturated with feelings best described in stomach flips and heart stutters, more so inside this little oasis they have created that represents so well the world of their own they've been in. The wind whips up around them, stirring the sparks in the air, in squalls and puffs as heavy as their breathing. It is too heavy, what is growing in the space they try to leave between them, what is building in the moments they look away after their eyes meet. There is so much warmth in that blanket—and not just because of the fabric. Two pairs of eyes stare out, ostensibly searching for something in the water, ignoring whatever's in the air, hearts pounding in the wonder of simply standing next to each other.
─────────────────────────────────── Friday
It’s only been four days. That is the mantra running through Alec and Magnus’s heads on the last day of the trip. Four days of being tourists on Kingston, four days of ferries and whale watching, four days of each other. It has been the perfect trip, but Alec thinks any trip where he met Magnus would have been perfect. And wonders if he can think that because it’s only been four days.
Can he feel like this about him after such short a time? Can Magnus, with his obligations and issues, feel this way about him ever?
They’re on the ferry from Kingston to NY. Separation is imminent; it’s all they can think about, and their thoughts are too heavy to have the light conversation they’re so good at. The cool air is rushing all around as they stand on the deck at the back of the ferry, watching the island, their time together, grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
Alec moves his hand, diminishing the few inches between them and holds his hand. Actually, he just places his fingers in the spaces between Magnus’s, where they are curled around the railing. It feels so natural, like their sighing, sad breaths and the rushing of the water below them. They don't speak, don't even look at each other, simply stand and watch the boat as it parts through the sea, watch as the sea joins together in the wake of the ripples the boat leaves. They don't stop holding hands even once they're off the ferry, standing in the parking lot of the NY Waterway ferry port.
He wants Magnus to stay with him. But how can you ask someone who was a stranger a few days ago for so much? Alec wants him not to go, and Magnus thinks he can see it written all over his face, in the way his lowered lashes sweep his high cheekbones as he stares at the ground. The way he's not just holding his hand anymore, but the way his fingers are now twined through his, knotted so that Magnus barely knows what flesh is his and what flesh is Alec’s. He thinks he can tell what Alec’s asking him in the way he's not saying a word.
But he's not saying a word and Magnus is glad for it—it would be impossible to say no to him and Magnus can't say yes. The car coming to take him to the wedding pulls up, and he reluctantly pulls his hand and his heart away from Alec. He has to do this; he cannot betray Camille this way – even for all her misgivings, she doesn’t deserve it. He has promises to keep and faces to make and makeup and a sleek suit to wear.
When he leaves Alec, it is with a heart heavier than the suitcase he carries. They don't say a word, not even goodbye, and he ignores the look he gets from the driver, his friend, Ragnor. He avoids watching Alec grow smaller in the rearview mirror only to find his eyes drifting to the side mirror. He's there, black shirt, old jeans, his duffel bag and heartache in hand, shrinking into Magnus’s past, standing just where he left him.
─────────────────────────────────── Saturday
“Clary…” Magnus warns as his sister fusses and fluffs some more. "Biscuit ..."
“Do you think we can pull in the waist of your pants this late? Just a quarter inch, though, I think that’ll give you an absolutely perfect fit.” Clary is bubbling with enthusiasm. She loves an occasion and rightly so. She is the darling of the family with her quick smiles and jovial niceties. She’s always been the kind, artistic eye to his extravagant, social butterfly persona. She’s Jocelyn’s true child, though if Jocelyn heard his thoughts that moment, she would argue that he is also his true child as well. After his adoption, Jocelyn and Luke welcomed him as if he was their own from the very beginning. And through all his decisions, they have stood by his side. Even as he decided to propose to Camille.
Camille, who had been kind and loving at the beginning. Who Magnus had come to care for deeply, only to ever so slowly, have that light diminish within him. Everything he does now, he’s crashed and failed by Camille’s standards. Magnus doesn’t doubt that even through the ceremony, his soon to be wife will find some way to tell him all the wrong he has done. Going on vacation for four days right before the wedding, moping around for the day he’s been back, leaving practically all the arrangements of his side to Clary. It doesn’t matter that Clary relishes this particular responsibility and would have done this even if Magnus had been around – to Camille, it’s just another way he has failed to be the person she wants him to be.
As much as he’s tried to brush if off during the years, even when far away from her – which he’s been for his own sanity and self-worth, Magnus feels the weight of her expectations. They burden him, giving him a sadness, a heaviness that pulls down the rest of his enjoyable life. It’s only been in the last week that he’s felt what it’s like to be free of her expectations, felt what it’s like to say not the right thing or wrong thing, but what he wants to say, felt what it’s like to have Alec’s hand holding his, keeping him to the ground, while he soars inside.
Magnus can’t even think what Camille would say if he told her that all he wanted to do was be with, near Alec right now. Camille would accuse him of being selfish, of ruining the wedding, of betraying her when she needs him - even if they both know there is nothing there anymore. But, she’d be right. He can do this. He can stand up there knowing that at some point, everyone will think of him as the perfect husband, he can stand there, looking at Camille, with their mismatched intentions, her forever, his unknown, and be the person that she wants him to be. He’ll have a smile on his face and Alec on his thoughts, but Camille will only care about keeping face.
He has been lucky in that the bride and groom and their parties generally stay away from each other on the day before the wedding as he’s been able to avoid Camille. She still managed to corner him, whispering her perfectly crafted version of all the trials they’d been through, how they were fated to end up here. He would have been moved before, he should still be moved, he should have tried to be out of his mind with love for her. But he’s not able to escape his mind or the one thing on it: Alec. Not then, with Camille’s words attempting to pull him to her, not now as he tries to push thoughts of Alec away.
Clary is still babbling away about his suit. “I just need it to be perfect, okay? This day has just got to be perfect! That’s part of my duty, my life’s purpose pretty much.”
“Biscuit!” He says harshly and then regrets it when he sees his sister’s face fall. He understands what she is trying to do. She’s trying to make this go perfectly and smoothly as possible because deep down inside, she knows that Magnus does not wish to go through with this any longer. She wants to make is as bearable for him as possible and his heart melts. All of a sudden, his thoughts are tumbling out of his mouth. “I met someone. While on Kingston.”
Clary’s eyes widen and immediately she shoots out a million questions, many of which he is dreading. “You met someone? What about Camille? Who is she or him? Did anything happen? How did you end it? Did you end it? How did you meet someone on a four-day vacation?”
He opens his mouth to answer, even though he has no idea what that answer is going to be, when Camille’s assistant barges in the door, bursting with instructions and enthusiasm. The moment is lost and the rest of the day and evening is swept away in wedding preparations. Clary tries to sneak him away for a second talk, but they are in high demand. Almost as if sensing something is about to shake the perfect atmosphere of the wedding, Camille’s assistant hovers and he retreats. He takes it as a sign – he’s not meant to mention it.
His whole being feels uneasy, feels incomplete and in limbo. He’s been feeling like this for months now, but ennui and apathy have just let him continue. The only time he’s felt different was in the last four days.
For the thousandth time, all he wants is Alec.
─────────────────────────────────── Sunday, during the wedding.
Alec gets there just after the final vows are exchanged. His heart clenches and he hopes that Magnus is willing to turn back on any promises he’s made. To Camille, to anyone. He hopes that he’s willing to make good on the promises they’ve never made with anything but their smiles or the one time he deliberately touch him – when Alec held his hand the way he wanted to hold him. It is a huge risk he takes in coming here, knowing Magnus told him of Camille’s supposed love for him, how much she wants him. Alec can only hope that Magnus wants him more.
He sees the group of women Magnus has told him about in the past few days – as his eyes move past the line of beautiful, happy bridesmaids to the bride herself, happiest of all, Alec identifies a grinning Camille. They all look so joyful, so full of life and excitement and emotion. For a moment, Alec feels remiss to crash it, to disrupt the celebration, to burst this bubble of delight they’re in. But then his eyes continue past the bride and he sees him: Magnus, dressed to the nines, looking like a ten, or in his eyes, a hundred. His hair is curled and waved upward, the dark fabric of his extravagant suit setting off that smooth, deep skin tone that first caught his eye. Magnus looks better than he’s been remembering, almost impossible as he’s been picturing him perfectly. But here he is – faking a smile, doling out happiness for everyone else, when he’s still searching for his own inside.
It doesn’t matter. Alec is here and he’s his. Nothing else – no other words, no other obligation, no other people – matter.
And now Magnus is walking back up the aisle with Camille on his arm, his dress coat floating on the light wind and he practically glides. The fool lucky enough to be next to him is grinning like she owns him and maybe she thinks she does. But Alec knows better. Part of him can’t believe it’s only been six days since he met Magnus, only six days of looks and laughs and breaths and thoughts and hope that have brought him here, one day of which he spent missing him. But in that one day he’s figured out all he’s had to – that the absence of Magnus is the absence of everything. Whether five days or five years, that feeling is truth, that feeling is what jolted him earlier, that feeling is what he’ll tell Magnus about when, or if, he asks why he’s here.
He’s hoping Magnus won’t ask. He’s hoping he’ll just know.
Betraying the tempest of emotions inside him, he leans nonchalantly against a tree about ten feet behind the arches and ribbons and white of the wedding, the black of his sweater and the casual of his jeans making him stand out more than his strange distance from the center of activity. His hair is in havoc from his nervous hands but as the last few couples walk back closer to him, he stands up, back straight, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He has a purpose and it is the boy nearing him.
When Magnus gets to the end of the aisle and spies him, fifteen feet behind the wedding arrangement, he can read the look on Magnus’s face easily, without any of the words that usually tumble so freely between them. Magnus is shocked at first and then undeniable elated and perhaps even relieved, and he wrenches his arm free from Camille’s tight, slowly despairing grip. But with the melee of man and emotion in front of him now, everything else falls away. Magnus mutters to Camille he’ll be right back – more words between them that won’t come true – and makes his way toward Alec.
Alec is here. For him. Nothing, not the swell of emotions he felt through the vows, not the warmth of reverent words of the reverend, not the smiles of his family or any of Camille’s words of love and devotion, or her pledges of fidelity and forever, have ever felt as good as knowing this:
Alec is here for him.
─────────────────────────────────── Sunday, just after the wedding.
“I don’t know what to say,” Alec begins. “I was hoping to get here before . . ." He pauses. "I was hoping that my coming here would be enough, but now that I’m here, I feel I need to say . . . something.”
Magnus takes a sharp breath at the sight of him, slightly sweaty in his nervousness, the apples of his pale cheeks splotched with red, blue eyes prodding into him, pleading please be pleased to see me.
“I’m going to be in love with you. I know it. I can’t … I can’t say I am, right now, because I think that these things mean more with time, but one day, I want to hold your hand and look at you and tell you, ‘remember that day I told you about? It’s here, I – I love you.” He pauses. He has both said it and not said it but really, he’s said it. The words hang in the air as if he’s written them on the moist mid-afternoon atmosphere.
“So please, just give me a chance to have that day,” he finishes, his words a hurried, honest breathy plea for Magnus’s heart. Alec doesn’t need to beg. He has it; he may have had it since that day Magnus sat down next to him on the bus.
“Alexander,” he says, his voice like a relieved sigh, an exhalation and exultation. It’s just his name, his not-so-average name, a word he’s said a hundred times, thought a million more, in the last few days. But it is enough. It is his answer. Magnus smiles and relief breaks over Alec, the corners of his eyes crinkling, smile wide and warm, washing over him like a cool tide.
“I’ve – I’ve never done this before, obviously. I never allowed myself to … I always knew I couldn’t have what I wanted – until you came along and I decided for the first time in my life to be selfish. So, will you run away with me?” Alec asks. He holds out his hand. Turning back, Magnus looks at the wedding in full swing behind him. His whole family is there, new members and old, celebrating their joining of lives, of happiness, of futures. He should be there, should be just right of center, standing next to Camille, partaking in it. But their joy, least of all Camille’s, is not his. His joy is in the hand being held out to him, in the smile beamed at him, in the messy dark hair and imploring eyes of the man who has come to claim him as his.
“Yes, I will,” Magnus says. In that moment, he’s made his decision – one bigger than just choosing Alec. He’s choosing himself – and he is an inextricable part of him now.
Alec’s hand is still there, waiting to be held, waiting for him; he thinks that even if he never reached for it, he’d hold it out to him forever.
“Do you need to say goodbyes?” He asks. Magnus looks back one final time at the wedding, the party he’s leaving behind.
“No. I told Clary about you, sort of. She’ll understand. She’ll tell them why I’ve left,” he replies. What he doesn’t say is that Clary will clean up his mess, Clary will tell Camille about Alec, Clary will explain why Magnus ran out after his wedding. As if by some clairvoyant means, Clary meets Magnus’s eye across the meters of space between them. She sees Alec, clutching Magnus’s hand like a tether to his existence and, in that moment, Clary has all the answers that Magnus couldn’t give the day before. With a smile from his best man – or in this case his best woman, Magnus is released, free to leave. Magnus turns and looks at Alec, and they are like mirror images – breathless excitement and smiling hope. This is the end of the start that commenced six days ago, and this is the start of all good things to come.
There will be much to be said in a few days, much to be handled and dealt with. But for now, there is only him and Alec, the moment and its meaning, his hand in his.
For now, forever, there is only them.